The Misadventures of Puck and the Modern World
by oOStarryEyedOo
Summary: After all, when you live in the woods for hundreds of years, you don't exactly stay up-to-date on all the newest technology. Or what 'technology' is, for that matter. Follow Puck as he discovers the wonders of everything modern, from TV to Tylenol. Multi-chapter, eventual Puckbrina.


_**A/N: I started this before the last book came out, so the whole "LET'S HAVE PUCK AND JAKE ADVENTURE TIME AROUND THE WORLD WHOO HOO" thing doesn't apply here. Instead, assume that the war is over, and Puck still lives with the Grimms, along with Henry and Veronica, Sabrina and Daphne, Red, and Basil. When I started this, I had had a sneaking suspicion that Mr. Cannis was going to die, so I cut him out. Since he didn't, assume he either moved or is still living in the house and just isn't mentioned. Jake was still missing when I started this and (if I'm going to be 100% honest) I kind of forgot about him. I might toss him in later but for now we'll just say he's living elsewhere.**_

_**I'm not sure if this is going to have a definitive plotline yet, I'm thinking it might be more of just Puck wandering about and discovering the wonders of things like and Us Weekly. I have a few ideas mapped out, but no overlaying plotline. **_

_**Ahh, the ages. You see, I wanted to have Puck and Sabrina be old enough to drive, but it wouldn't make any sense to have the story start by the time they're 16, because by then Puck would know all about computers and the Kardashians. However, I needed Daphne to be old enough to be slightly more independent (and who doesn't love teenybopper!Daphne?). So, I'm going to say that Puck and Sabrina were both turned thirteen around the time the war ended, and are now fifteen. Daphne just turned twelve. The reason Puck is just learning about the wonders of technology now is because for the year after the war the Grimms were too busy rebuilding the whole freaking town of Ferryport Landing to pay much attention to who was eliminated from The Bachelorette that week. **_

_**Disclaimer: I don't own Sisters Grimm or Microsoft Word. I don't own a Mustang, either. Drat. **_

_**This is longer than my summer reading essay**._

* * *

Hi, my name is Puck. But I'm sure that you already know that because of my-

Argh, what the heck am I doing? I'm supposed to be writing a memoir, not an advertisement. So, yeah. I'm Puck. I'm going to assume you already know me if you're reading this, but I'm not too worried if you don't. You'll catch on pretty quick. Or not. I lead a rather peculiar life.

Anyway, so you may be wondering, "Gee, Puck! Why are you of all people/faeries/Everafters/handsome men writing a memoir?" except maybe not that corny. Probably more like "What the heck is this dude doing down in this hizzy... swizzy... tizzy mcfizzy jizzy-"

I'm going to stop there.

Anyway. So I'm writing this memoir because of- who else?- Grimm. Sabrina Grimm, to be exact. Or in case you were confused maybe I meant Basil Grimm, the three-year-old protege of yours truly. Or maybe Daphne Grimm, the ever rolling ball of sunshine and pep. Or maybe you thought I meant Henry Grimm, everyone's favorite negative square of doom (notice I didn't say he was a negative ball, I said square. Because Henry Grimm doesn't deserve to be a ball).

Ugh, I just got off track again. I'm really bad at this whole "memoir" thing... Oh, yeah. Grimm and the memoir and why I'm writing this thing.

So it started earlier today (around 12 noon to be exact. I know because I had just finished devouring a rather spectacular sandwich consisting of french fries, Goldfish, and leftover shark meat), when I was wondering about the house, searching for something to cure my boredom. Basil was napping, Granny was out shopping, and Daphne and Red were locked away in Daphne's room. The only person left to pester was Grimm, the one and only (but not really, since she has countless relatives with the same name, as we already established above). I found her hunched over the couch in the living room, scribbling all crazy-like over a leather-bound book.

"Whatcha doing?" I asked, plopping down next to her on the couch. She jumped at least a foot, I swear.

"Don't scare me like that! I'm updating my journal." She muttered the last part as an afterthought.

"You mean your diary? Ha, I'd like to read that-" I stopped speaking, because I could tell that sentence could really only go downhill from there.

"No, not my diary. My journal-"

"Same thing."

She rolled her eyes. "A diary is where I'd put my thoughts and feelings," She wrinkled her nose at the words and what they implied. "A journal is where I'm supposed to record events and mysteries and stuff that makes me a trademark Grimm."

Eh. Potato, patatoh.

Gesturing to the bookshelf behind her, she closed her journal and shoved it back at the end of the bookshelf, the leather spine blending in with the countless other books on the shelf.

"I want a journal!" I most certainly did not not whine. Grimm smirked at me.

"Too bad. Journals are for Grimms only."

"Psh. That's because Grimms are the only ones lame enough to still use them." I felt kind of bad about that comment, because I felt like all the other Grimms were rolling in their graves at the thought of me shunning them all... And then I got distracted by the idea of like four thousand skeletons simultaneously rolling in the dirt, and kind of zoned out Grimm for a few moments.

"Puck! Did you hear me?"

"Yup!" I lied. "And I still don't want one of your stupid journals." In truth, I kind of did want something to write in. Not because I wanted to talk about my feelings- gosh NO- but so the many followers of the Trickster King can have something to read after I'm gone. Or if I'm too busy. So I improvised. "I can have something so much cooler than a JOURNAL-"

"A dairy?" Grimm taunted.

"Ew, no. I thought we'd already established diaries are for weak mortals."

"But I am technically a-"

"Never mind! No, I'll start a... book."

"A book?"

"Yes, a book. About me. I'll talk about what it's like to be so wonderful."

"You mean like a memoir?"

I didn't know what a memoir was, but my number one rule when talking to Grimm was to appear smarter than I looked (this rule often did not work out). So I tried to play along. "Of course a memoir! Who doesn't love memoirs?"

I don't think she was fooled, but instead of being the mature (yes, I am aware of the meaning of that word), she decided to act childish and taunt me further.

"Well, have fun with that. Except we're out of notebooks, you're going to have to use a... computer."

I felt my try to face pull into confusion at the foreign word, but I forced it to stay neutral. Or not, judging from the look on Grimm's face.

"Of course I'll have to use a computer! What else dose one write a memor-"

"Memoir,"

"Right- on?"

Grimm rose her eyebrows, and I could read the challenge in her eyes. "Have fun with your 'memor', Fairy Boy," (We're fifteen, and she still uses that nickname. I know.) "I can't wait to read it."

I grinned and looked her dead in the eye, accepting the challenge laid out in front of me.

"I can't wait for you to read it."

Oooh, that came out wrong. Ah, well. I held the prideful look on my face (although later on I realized it probably looked more like I was passing gas or something) and turned away.

* * *

"DAPHNE MARSHMALLOW GRIMM."

I marched (rather heroically, except there was no need for me to be heroic at all at the moment. Anyway.) into the ball of sunshine's room, squinting for a moment when I was met by _bright_.

Daphne's room is (was? What tense is this memor in again?) painted an obnoxiously bright purple, with a lime carpet and pictures of glossy-faced people who were somehow deemed important enough to go onto the girl's wall. I wondered how Daphne went through the process of who gets to be on her wall. (The only photo that contained people I actually knew was a picture of Sabrina, Basil, Red, her, and I shoved in the corner of her bulletin board, so I guess the standards were pretty high.) The whole room reeked of some extremely potent perfume and... did I smell something burning?

"DAPHNE! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" The crazy girl was _burning her hair_ with a stick that looked kinda like the tongs the Old Lady used to serve orange noodles last night. Gee, those were good. I kinda want more now...

Hold, please.

Okay, I'm back. With noodles. Who doesn't love a good noodle?

Anyway.

I dived (well, maybe it was more like a epic trip) over to her and pushed her out of harm's way. Her and I tumbled down to the lime green floor. The wannabe tongs flew from her grasp and kind of half rolled, half clamped over to the bottled water that was standing on the floor. The water bottle fell over and-

Before I could see exactly what the chemical reaction between water, plastic, and burning materials was (I had a hunch it wasn't good), I was kneed right in the stomach.

"Owwwwwwww," Was the only word I could form after that lovely display of Marshmallow's karate moves.

"Serves you right, you stupid fairy," And really, what is up with everyone pointing out the face I'm a fairy when I'm being insulted? "You destroyed my hair straightener!" She was in the process of kneeing me again (this time in a much less fun place) when Red spoke up quietly from the bed.

"It's alright, Dahphne. The cap was on the bottle, it didn't do anything."

Daphne stopped mid-knee and looked up at the two guilty items.

"Oh. Okay, then. Whaddya want, Puck?"

I blinked. Why was I here again? Uh...

"Computers!"

"What?"

"_I must learn how to use a computer_. Also, what's a computer?"

Daphne blinked. I blinked. Red frowned (she didn't blink, though. Way to break the pattern, Red).

"You mean you don't know what a computer is? Even I know that, and I've lived here for less time than you!" The words could have been insulting if they weren't coming from _Red_. I mean, the girl is practically the human form of a deer. Or some other extremely timid animal.

"Ahem, yes, it's true. I, the Trickster King, do not know what this magical and mythical device called a 'computer'-"

"Puck, cut the crap." Daphne giggled out as she pulled me up from the floor. "Wait here."

She reappeared a few minutes later, carrying a thin metal... box? Rectangle? Square of doom?

She put (well, it was really more of a gentle toss) the Square of Doom down on the bed made a 'shh' sign with her fingers.

"If Mom catches me using her laptop without supervision, she'll murder me."

Lapwhat? She sat down on the bed across from the Square of Doom and patted the spot next to her. I plunked myself down on the brightly colored bed, feeling it bounce slightly as I settled myself in comfortably.

"This is a computer. Well, kind of. This is a laptop, which is a wireless version of a computer. Same thing." Daphne leaned forward and opened the Box of Doom (er, laptop). Instead of being an actual box on the inside, I saw there was a large screen on the top half and small squares with letters and numbers on the bottom half.

What sorcery was this thing?

There was a large square at the bottom of the bottom half. Daphne pressed her finger over it and the screen lit up. A photo of the Grimm family (from like, four years ago. I guess there hasn't been many photo ops between winning wars and rebuilding towns) was blown up on the screen now. Daphne kind of glided her finger across the square. She pressed her finger down again, this time over this tiny picture of a W that I hadn't noticed before. After a minute a large white square appeared on the screen.

"What's _that?_" I asked.

"This is a... thing called Microsoft Word. It lets you write without actually writing." Daphne said proudly. She moved her hand up and began pressing some of the buttons on the bottom half of the laptop. 'Puck is learning to use a computer' appeared in neat lettering on the blank page above.

What.

What.

What is this.

Daphne must have noticed my shock over this ridiculous contraption, and slowly explained the process to me.

"You press the keys that have the right letters on them to spell out words. See, if I wanted to write 'cat', I can type the C, then the A, then the T. And look," She gestured to the screen, where the word cat had just appeared. "It says 'cat'!"

"I can see that." I whispered, except I was still in awe and couldn't quite form words, so it came out like "I ca she hat".

"Here," Daphne pushed the laptop over to me. "Try typing your name." I reached to the button-pad thing (I later learned it was called a keyboard. It's like laptops have a whole new language) and tried to press the buttons as fast as the Computer Master over here had:

Padiasc.

I frowned at the word, trying to see how that had formed out of the word 'Puck' (the great and terrible). Red squinted over our shoulders.

"Well, it had a P. And a C. So it's close, I guess."

"Try going a little slower. And actually looking at the keys." Daphne suggested.

So I tried again, slowly and painstakingly pressing down each of the four letters in my name.

Puck.

"I did it! Haha, _I did it!_" (I was clearly very excited about this). I grinned pointed to the screen. "Look! There it is! P-U-C-K!"

"Isn't it super cool? I never thought of how cool a laptop is, actually. Like, you can do so much! And the fact that you can just press buttons and boom! There's a word is like, magic! Who even invented the computer? Cause they should be like, the next president!"

_"Right!"_

We squeed over computers for a solid five minutes before Red quietly remind us that if we got any louder our closest neighbor (an elderly man who lived a mile away) might get disturbed.

"Okay, practice typing some paragraphs and stuff, and then you can start... What exactly are you using the computer for?"

"I'm writing a memoir!"

"Oooh, I love memoirs!" Daphne had the unusual ability to make every sentence out of her mouth sound like she had just discovered the secret of life. She made memoirs sound much more exciting than they are (unless they're mine, of course).

"Don't we all?" Sarcasm flew right over Daphne's head, so she probably thought I was serious. Oh, well.

Daphne and Red disappeared from the room chatting amiably about some thing called One Direction. Who even know with those two.

And so I sat, for several hours, slowly typing out this monster word by word, not moving from my spot criss-cross-applesauce in front of the computer. And by slow, I mean _slow_. I'm typing at about one word a minute, two minutes if it's a long word.

It's taken me about seven hours to write this whole thing.

Well, I'm starting to get kind of hungry. And tired. Also, I can't feel my left leg. So I think it's about time to stop writing for the night.

Until next time,

Puck, the Great and Terrible

* * *

_**So, what do you all think? Hopefully I can have the next chapter out soon (I have a 6-hour car ride to endure in a few days that will give me plenty of time to write. And die of boredom), but I'm not making any promises. School's starting soon, after all!**_

_**Up Next: Puck discovers movies, and the forever coolness of a movie theater.**_


End file.
